Kade

“We need this shit out of here. Unanimous decision. You’re the lucky fucker who gets the cake job.” Chase liked the cake jobs now and then, but they were few and far between with my MC. We did hard shit most of the time.

Chase looked more surfer than a Dark Saint; he was about as blonde as I was dark. He was right though, I was lucky. This was going to be a vacation, or as close as I got to one.

“Rather be lucky than smart,” I said and began packing up my bike. We were going to be running guns out of Port Az and straight into Mexican territory, but Bear and the officers had come up with a plan that would keep our hands clean.

Benz and Axle were doing the dangerous shit.

They were stealing a shipment from the Hawks, from right under their noses. This shit wasn’t going to make any fucking friends with our rival club, but we weren’t there to make friends.

Bear had explained it to the club at the last Church meeting.

“We get the guns away from the fucking Hawks, they stay off the streets of Port Az, plus we get the cash when we turn around and sell ‘em.”

It all sounded good, except any number of fucking things could go wrong. I always got a knot in my gut when I knew Benz and Axle and the rest of the crew were out there pulling one over on the Hawks. So I wanted to be there in case shit went bad.

The Dark Saints had my back when I needed it, and I was damn sure to always be there when they needed me.

But I had my orders. There had been a lot of skirting around club rules lately, and I knew Bear, my Prez, and E.Z., our VP, were sensitive about it right now. No more slipping by the rules or the votes.

I was going to do as I was assigned. Which, in this case, would be easy.

Chase gave me the details on my cake walk job.

“Bear made a deal with some shipping or trucking company. The boss of the company knows the shits in the truck. It’s going to make a few stops, and then a pick up south of the border.”

“Does the driver know?” Chase handed me my satchel and I strapped the last of my gear onto my bike.

Rufus, the scruffy mutt, and club mascot trotted up. Chase pet him on the head.

“No, don’t think so. So even easier. Just do that Comanche tracker shit you do and it’ll be fine.”

My Great Great Great Grandma, Tahalina Rogers Davis, was full-blooded Comanche, and most people said that’s what I still looked like. But, truth be told, the only tribe I really rolled with was The Dark Saints.

“Right.”

“I’ll call as soon as Benz and Axle get it loaded.”

“Thanks, brother.”

Chase and I clasped hands and hugged. The truth was, any moment, on any job, could be the last moment. That’s why I lived hard, fucked hard, and rode hard. It could all be gone. I wasn’t much for looking back, or too far ahead. I looked to my club and the road. That suited me fine.

Rufus nuzzled up to my leather and I scratched behind his mangy ears.

“Get going. You know I don’t like dogs.” Rufus shook his head at me and trotted off back toward the club. Mama Bear was probably waiting inside with a treat.

I revved the engine and headed to the truck stop off exit 21, just outside of Port Azreal.

Benz and Axle transferred the guns to a couple of probies. Guys that weren’t marked as Dark Saints yet. Bear thought that would help throw off any scent that it was us that stole the Hawk’s guns.

The probies would load the guns while the trucker sat his fat ass down on a diner stool. If the probies were fast about it, the trucker wouldn’t have a damn clue what The Dark Saints had hidden in his vehicle. It was better that way. The trucker would raise less suspicion if he wasn’t looking guilty or nervous.

It was really a pretty good plan.

I looked around and found the license plate I was looking for. It was a smallish-semi, parked where Chase said it would be.

I killed my bike engine and scanned the place. My phone rang. Chase again, with an update.

“Benz and Axle said the probies should be about done. You see them?”

Sure enough, there were Fitzie and Machop, headed into the diner. They were done with their part, and probably hungry as usual.

“Yeah, they’re good, truck looks locked up.” I watched the probies, Fitzie, skinny and full of energy, and Machop, all muscle from his buzz cut to his boots. They were ready to eat and be done with it, but they knew not to leave until they saw me make the connection.

“Good luck brother, see you in a few. I’m contact point if you need shit.”

“Need shit? Just a fork. This one’s cake remember?” I said and clicked my phone off to Chase’s laugh.

I walked into the diner and nodded to the probies. They were dressed in street clothes and hadn’t earned their cuts yet. They nodded back to let me know it was all clear.

I scanned the restaurant and tried to get a make on the driver of the truck out back. I’d be his shadow for the next few days and, if we did this right, he’d never know it.

There were several Bubbas in a booth enjoying burgers, and there was a lone trucker on a stool. He appeared to be working hard at something other than the coffee in front of him. I was pretty sure this was my guy.

“Listen, sweet cheeks, my cab’s nice and cozy. It’s been a long few weeks. How about it? I’ve even got cash. Extra money for a little slap and tickle?” The trucker made an obscene gesture with his tongue. Class guy all around.

The object of his clumsy come on caught my eye and held it.

There were hookers at this stop, that was no shocker. Hell, the MC provided protection for them many times, but this girl didn’t look like a hooker.

What she looked like burned onto my brain. I forgot I was supposed to be tracking the loud mouth trucker and zoned in on her. Every inch of her.

The first thing I noticed was her hair. It was a mass of dark red curls. They were held away from her forehead with a wide scarf that trailed down her back. She wore a tight grey t-shirt that hugged her breasts. It had some phrase on it like “I just want to hang with my dog.”

She was like some sexy hippy, not some truck stop hooker. That idiot trucker couldn’t see the difference, but I sure could.

My eyes took a tour of the rest of her: her ass was gorgeous as she perched on the diner stool. She was ready to bolt though, thanks to her counter next-door neighbor.

I didn’t have a fix on her eyes yet though because she was looking down at her own cup of coffee. Now she looked up from her cup and back at the pig trucker. Unfortunately, I’d be spending a lot of time watching this buffoon who’d just propositioned my little red-head.

Shit, I’d rather watch her. As far as I could see she had on zero makeup and looked amazing without it. That should have been clue enough for anyone used to paying for a “slap and tickle,” as he called it. Most of the hookers wore half-an inch-wide dark eyeliner. Not this girl. She was as fresh as it got.

“No thanks.” She looked at him and I finally got a view of her eyes: hazel. Actually, the color was closer to, say, whiskey. Or maybe amber, something like that anyway. I wasn’t an artist, but I did know they matched her hair. At this moment, those eyes were uncertain, unsure just what to do next with this trucking fucker.

“Come on, honey. I just got paid.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist. I was livid. It was instant. I had a temper and it was a pain in everyone’s ass. I knew that.

My biggest fucking obstacle in life was not losing my shit and I was about to lose my shit. This would not make trailing this guy in secret a viable plan. But I was famous for going off half-cocked, and I did it again.

“Take your hand off her,” I said, appearing next to the trucker to whom I was supposed to be invisible. My voice was quiet but there was rage underneath my words. A rage that had shot up like a rocket when I saw this guy’s meat hooks on that delicate wrist.

The curly haired little number leaned back away from the trucker and me. Her eyes darted between us. I supposed neither one of us looked like a good option for safety at this point.

But one of us hadn’t tried to pay her for a blowjob in the cab of his greasy truck. I hope she did that math.

The trucker lifted his hands off her wrist and she withdrew. She kept her eyes on mine and reached into her back pocket. She put a five-dollar bill on the counter and backed away from us. “Keep the change!” she said to the waitress at the counter.

“Thanks, Harlow,” the waitress said. So, she’d been here before. I thought that was interesting. Granted I thought everything about this curly haired little beauty, Harlow, was interesting.

“Yep.” She made her way to the door, walking backwards, and then mouthed the word thanks to me. The way her lips opened slightly and her tongue touched the top of her teeth when she mouthed it was fucking sexy as hell. I wondered if she had any idea how that little gesture got me fucking hard as a rock.

I detected a smile on the corner of her mouth; maybe she thought my move to come to her rescue was overkill? It probably was. Fuck it all, I acted fast. I’m like that sometimes.

She left the diner and I wondered about her. But I was on the clock. The MC needed my complete attention.

“Thanks for fucking up my night, asshole,” the trucker complained, turning around to face the counter and cry in his coffee.

“Anytime.” I debated coming up with some cover story. He’d seen me. I’d stopped his shitty attempt at a little extra-curricular activity. I decided against it. Nothing about this guy made me want to spend any more time with him. I’d trail from a distance and be sure this was our last interaction.

I looked out the window of the diner. Had I lost Harlow already? Maybe the waitress could tell me more. I sure as shit wanted to see her again. The trucker was still sitting there; losing him was not going to be a problem, he clearly wasn’t going to move fast, at anything.

“Hey, that Harlow? She come here a lot?” I shot my question at the waitress behind the counter and she gave me a flirty look.

“Harlow? When she starts a run, yeah, every few weeks.”

“A run. Like jogging?” She didn’t look like she had running clothes on.

“No sexy, a run, with her truck. She’s hauling shit just like the rest of these charmers.” The waitress winked at the trucker I was supposed to be tailing. She knew where her tips came from.

I walked over to the window and saw that the truck I was supposed to be following was backing out. How in the hell? The driver was sitting right there.

I squinted to see who was in the cab.

Behind the wheel of the rig was the curly-haired redhead. She was moving steal, and the guns that I was supposed to follow were hidden inside it.

Shit! I ran out of the diner and got to my bike. My cakewalk had just gotten very sweet indeed.